02AUG
There is a pocket of time that belongs only to me — after the first look, before the next. The stylist adjusts my collar and steps away, and suddenly it's just the hum in my chest and the light shifting across the seamless. I think of my grandmother's record player, the way Coltrane fills a room without asking for attention. This is what I carry onto set: the quiet, the certainty that stillness is its own kind of power.
Mood: contemplative